Threshold

The world flows with its own sound,
past doors that never close,
never lock.
This is where I am it says.
I have roads of infinite length,
dark verandas
from which you can see
a kiss return again and again,
full and opulent.
Full of poems
like a woman who returns
from the box of her darkness,
because of love,
whose eyes are full of old tears,
saying, I am nothing.
I changed nothing.

You held me in your arms
in the moment of a lullaby,
and my love never ceases.
It will always cover you with petals
because you refuse to let me die.
So I never go away.
Old man, with your poems
are you lost in the clouds?
Does your work get done?
Do you keep your schedules?
And honestly, I do not know.

People see my clothes,
offer me food,
but the place where my heart goes
is open,
full of empty sea,
and they know somehow I’ve changed,
I am far away.
A hand touches my chest,
lips warm my mouth,
and it is she who stays with me,
loves me.
The world I was taught to see as stone,
full of love.